My First Week as a Catholic: Beautiful, Hard, and Honest

It has been a little over a week since I made my profession of faith in the Catholic Church—since I received my First Communion and was confirmed. In the days that followed, one question kept coming my way: “Rachel, how was your first week of being a Catholic?” If I am honest, it was a nightmare. That may not be the answer people expect—the polished, glowing testimony wrapped in sentimentality. But it is the truth. 

I have always known that anti-Catholicism exists. I have studied it, encountered it, even anticipated it. But there is a particular sting when it comes not from strangers, but from people you love. There is a special kind of grief when family members do not ask how you are doing spiritually—not necessarily because they do not care, but because they do not understand. There is a quiet ache when conversations that once felt natural now feel strained. When the people who helped shape your love for Scripture seem unable to see where that love has led you. 

There is also a deeper loneliness—the kind that settles in when evangelicals, many of whom you respect, cannot understand that you are closer to Christ now than you have ever been before. What feels like departure to them feels, to you, like a homecoming. 

That tension defined much of my first week. It showed up in conversations I replayed long after they ended. In moments where I tried to explain myself, only to realize that no explanation could fully bridge the gap. In the quiet question that lingered beneath it all: Was I prepared for this? And yet, strangely, it was also… normal. Because beneath the noise, beneath the questions, beneath the misunderstandings—there was peace. Not loud or overwhelming, but steady. The kind of peace that does not argue or defend itself, but simply remains. 

Receiving the Eucharist was not just symbolic to me; it was deeply personal, deeply real. In those moments, there were no debates, no need to justify anything—just presence. And that reality did not disappear just because others could not see it or accept it. So yes, my first week as a Catholic was weird. It was emotionally exhausting. At times, it felt isolating in ways I did not expect. But it was also grounded in something unshakable. I wrestled with whether or not to share this journey publicly. There is a vulnerability in putting words to something so personal—especially when you already feel misunderstood. But after Confirmation, several of the men at my parish asked me how I felt now that it was all “over.”  

That question stayed with me—because the truth is, nothing is over. If anything, everything has just begun. If I thought OCIA was challenging as a theologian, I am quickly learning that living out these convictions as a Catholic is an entirely different kind of challenge. This is no longer academic. This is not a classroom discussion or a theological exercise. This is daily life—relationships that must be navigated with grace, conversations that require both courage and restraint, and a faith that must now be lived rather than simply explained. 

There is a quiet cost to discipleship that we do not always talk about. The cost of being misunderstood. The cost of not fitting neatly into spaces you once occupied. The cost of choosing conviction over comfort. 

But there is something else, too. There is the quiet joy of knowing that you did not arrive here by accident. That every question, every doubt, every late-night search for truth led somewhere real. There is a deep, steady assurance that even in the discomfort, you are exactly where you are meant to be. 

So my first week as a Catholic was, in many ways, a contradiction—painful and peaceful, disorienting and grounding, difficult and deeply right. And I have decided to share this journey. Honestly. Openly. Without pretending it is easier than it is. Because faith is not proven in comfort—it is proven in perseverance. And if my first week has taught me anything, it is this: following Christ more closely will cost you something. 

It may cost you ease, understanding, even a sense of belonging in certain spaces. But it will also give you something deeper—something steadier, something eternal. And for me, even in the hardest moments of this first week… it has already been worth it.